


The Legend of Miss Valerie Lannister

by English_Rose



Category: The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-12
Updated: 2014-02-12
Packaged: 2018-01-12 02:49:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1181028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/English_Rose/pseuds/English_Rose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's one character in Middle Earth Tolkien didn't have to look far to find…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [www.allthingszc.tumblr.com](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=www.allthingszc.tumblr.com).



> For a dear friend, who really ought to read The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit now before she goes on a quest of her own…

Oxford, 1936

Valerie trudged along the pavement through the mizzle. This grey, dreary, not-quite-rain-but-certainly-damp had hung around for weeks now as it did every November; and every November it seemed to affect everyone the same. Now, as she squinted at the house numbers past the black rim of her thick glasses, she realised she couldn't remember whether she had been this grumpy before the not-rain, of if her mood had just been another side effect (along with the myriads of colds, flu's and general gloominess) which followed in the wake of this petulant drizzle. If only it would just get it all out of its system in one nice big thunderstorm - gorgeous, lashing rain beating down, complete with sharp, sudden, crisp flashes of bright light and the ominous drum roll of thunder; then, Valerie thought, the world would be a stage, and all men players. Currently, all men (and women) seemed to be more like paper dolls, and rather soggy and miserable ones at that. 

At last she came to 22 Northmoor Road, a large house with ivy clinging on desperately to the walls; sighed heavily, slipped and sloshed up the path through the muddy lawn, past the milk bottles (by now overflowing with rainwater), trying not to trip over a rather bedraggled cat also making its way up the path to the green door; and rang the electric doorbell. 

She had not really wanted to get a job; but a combination of several stern lectures from her mother on her responsibilities and the experience she could be gleaning, along with her realisation, on sitting down to count her earthly savings, that she only had about a third that was required to get her to America (despite scrimping and saving for almost 7 years now), was enough to persuade her to start looking for a job - if only for the money and subsequent hope of adventure it might bring. So, after a month of searching around and rejecting all her ones her mother had found, she had finally spotted a small advert in the paper over breakfast -

"Secretary needed. 3 shillings a week. Must be able to type, write and make tea. Neat handwriting imperative. Apply 22 Northmoor road" 

Partly because it looked interesting, and mostly because her mother had taken an instant dislike to it, she had decided that this was to be her job and had applied accordingly. Now, there she was, her first day at her first ever job; and already she was slightly late and more than slightly wet.


	2. Chapter 2

The door was opened by a fierce little old lady, with dark eyes and a mop of white hair squashed (or so it seemed) by a large black ribbon. She peered up challengingly at Valerie (who, although fairly small, seemed positively gigantic in comparison) -

"Well?" She inquired hautily, before it occurred to Valerie that an introduction might be in order; and was completely at a loss of what to say. 

"We don't want any more carpets, thank you" the old lady, evidently deciding that Valerie was possibly the least competent peddler in the world, started to shut the door firmly. Valerie immediately stuck her foot in the doorway. There was not a cats chance in hell that was she staying out in this mizzle longer than absolutely necessarily. Realising though that this may not have been exactly polite etiquette, she faced the returning astonished face with as cordial and sweet a smile as she could manage. The lady looked even more horrified. Possibly, the sweetness was a tactical error there (Valerie had a habit of flashing her teeth when she was forced to grin, as if simultaneously sucking at a lemon and planning how to dispose of a body) 

"Um, excuse me m'aam, I'm Valerie , and I am applying for the…um…job advertised in the paper? I'm so sorry I'm late…" she trailed off.

The old lady's expression seemed to shift from horrified to intensely suspicious. Valerie gulped. Wetly. Christ, no one told her she would have to win over a dragon just to get through the doorway. 

"The…um…secretary?" She tried 

There was a pause.

"You're late?" was the idea that the old woman latched onto with tenacity. Ah; Val thought, another tactical error there, (the second one today before 9:30 in the morning) although, by now, there really was nothing Valerie could do to deny it.

"Um…yes…I suppose so" she admitted.

There was another pause. 

"You seem very young" she said, eyeing Valerie critically from her short, tousled, black mop (the result of an experiment with some scissors a few months ago) to her long, rugged, pointed fingernails. Valerie rolled her eyes as her boots were then duly examined - trying to ignore the feeling of cold droplets trickling down the inside of her collar and quash the urge to leapfrog over the old lady and straight into the dry hallway beyond. 

"Well, since you're here" the lady concluded at last, with the air of one not entirely happy with this purchase but feeling that, in times like these, needs must "you might as well come in"

Valerie sighed with relief as she was ushered through the doorway and into the warm red hall. 

"And take those galoshes off young lady!" The old woman scolded, turned and stalked off down the corridor with brisk efficiency, muttering about the carpets and young people these days.

"John!" She shrieked in a high, piercing voice, "A young person to see you about the secretary job" 

"And the raincoat too" she finished turning back to Valerie with ferocity and eyeing her with blatant disapproval, before continuing to mutter about the young people these days, a topic seeming fraught with interest for her, and on which she seemed ready to deliver a thesis without much compunction. Valerie stood dripping on the mat, gazing wide eyed around the hallway, drinking in the warmth, the patterned wallpaper and little watercolours, balanced precariously on hooks.

"John do come here, before she ruins the carpet!!" came the screech again, making Valerie wince. 

An old man shuffled into sight from a doorway, shoulders hunched beneath the threadbare tweed jacket. He was wearing the most extraordinary slippers, and a pipe drooped from his mouth, as though clinging on desperately for dear life. Looking up, he saw Valerie dripping at the other end of the hallway; and, after a longish pause when he realised that evidently he was going to have to be the one to make the first move, shuffled ponderously down the corridor, staring at his slippers. He reached the other end, and held out his hand for a firm handshake. Valerie stared up into his face as he stared down into hers. His was a round face, full of lines and crags and dimples, culminating in two firm, ruddy cheeks. His hand was wrinkled but steady, and his eyes dark but twinkly, with a pleasing amount of smile wrinkles at the corners. 

"How d'you do" he said in long "and what's your name?"  
"Valerie Lannister, Sir"  
"Ah, well, I'm pleased to meet you Miss Lannister - I'm Tolkien, James Tolkien, but do call me James, everyone does"  
There was a short, sharp cough, rather like a gunshot from the end of the hall (presumably from his wife) who seemed to have taken up the position of a long suffering prompter, trying to make sure this conversation stuck to a script. The old man, with the weariness of a lifetime's experience, quickly obliged  
"Um, or Mr Tolkien, whichever you prefer…" he added vaguely, waving his pipe around in the direction of one of the more precariously balanced watercolours, before falling into contemplation of his slippers.  
There was another pause, followed by another prompting gunshot, which seemed to effectively startle the man out of his revere  
"So, you've come about the secretary job?…mm…yes…well, er, can you type?"  
'Yes sir"  
"Jolly good"  
There was another long pause, aching with the sort of awkwardness experienced only when lines are forgotten.  
"Hmm…um…And your handwriting? It is neat, isn't it?" he asked, looking down at her over his pipe earnestly. Again, she answered in the affirmative, possibly over egging the quality of her penmanship (though tactfully, for she did really want the job, not mentioning the strange copperplate she had adopted as her signature style)  
"Capital" he answered, smiling down with pleased relief at his slippers.  
There was another pause, though before the gunshot was needed, another question slipped out of him, and his voice seemed somehow more animated and interested-  
"And of course, you can make tea?"  
Val grinned  
"Earl grey, boil for 3 minutes, leave to brew in teapot for five minutes, milk first, occasionally a limp or four of sugar needed"  
He grinned back conspiratorially, his eyes twinkling merrily, as though they were a pair of naughty schoolboys  
"Naturally"  
There was another pause.  
"Well" he said, turning round to face his wife "she seems an excellent choice, answers all the criteria…"  
"Oh for gods sake James" wailed his wife impatiently, who had evidently had her fill of prompting to no avail and was dismayed that despite her best efforts, this whole scene had not taken its proper course "that is not the way to hire a secretary!"  
"But, my dear, I asked her the questions and she seemed to answer entirely satisfactorily" he looked down the hallway at her, like a little boy begging a strict nanny to let him keep a stray puppy. The bedraggled Valerie certainly felt like a stray puppy, and no doubt, if given half a chance, the woman would have been quick to point out that she resembled one too.  
After a long pause, during which the old woman was obviously struggling between dragging this thing out or let it die a natural death.  
"Oh, very well, do what you want, do what you want, but don't turn round to me and say I didn't warn you"  
He turned around and gave Valerie a charming and twinkling smile  
"But for pity's sake, do go down to your shed to work - she'll make a mess of my carpets in here"

After the slippers had been exchanged for old and very muddy looking brogues, and Valerie and Mr Tolkien had slipped out of the house, closing the front door and bracing themselves against the mizzle, he turned to her, with a glint in his eye, and said in the more animated tea-question voice of before  
"Now Miss Lannister, your weapon of choice is?…"


End file.
